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Supernatural Is All but Fake
I was always obsessed with the supernatural. I really was. I always thought that the world hated me because everyone was telling me about weird occurrences that involved almost surreal events, thinking that I would take interest in their stories, and I was faced with living a normal, boring life. I was in middle school when this infatuation came about, so I was still naive, gullible, and open to new ideas. As more people began to tell me these crazy stories of how they saw weird animals or some godly event happened with their families or other things like that, I began to get depressed with envy. I went into a downward spiral of insanity as I began more intense searches for the supernatural. I should have never started that path. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I began to even become a satanist, hoping that he would save me from the hell of reality, and drag me into a supernatural existence. My family disowned me, and I spent my days locked in my room, doing various rituals and whatnot to try to summon the surreal. I began cutting myself, as various rituals required my mortal blood for them to "work". The scars were horrid to everyone else around me, but personally, I loved them to death. I showed them like they were toys. One day, my parents had had enough with my constant attempts at summoning the supernatural, so they banished me. I went to my room, taking nothing but my knife, a lighter, some candles, and whatever else I needed for the ritual I was going to perform, the last I ever would. I ran out of the house into the nearby woods, and trekked deep into an open area, surrounded by trees. It was around 6 in the afternoon, and it was in early November, so it was a cool evening and the sky was beginning to get colorful. I sat down and got out my materials for the ritual. I surrounded myself with the candles, and lit each one, while I took out a piece of paper, a quill, an empty ink container, and my knife. The ritual was known as "The Letter To Hell". I slashed my forearm with the knife as I usually would, and as the blood slowly poured out, I put the container under the blood flow to capture what was coming out. The blood would be my ink. Almost instantaneously, I heard a banging and a crunching of fallen leaves in the distance, and a slight humming as well, but I shrugged it off as nothing. I began to write my letter, after I sealed my wound. It said this: "Satan, the lord of the underworld, make your presence known to my eyes so I can worship your unholiness personally." Just like the ritual had said, I ended the letter with the pentagram of Satan. I sat there, letting the letter dry until I could run my hand on it and no smearing would happen. As the candles burned, the banging grew louder, along with the humming, which was seeming to be coming from multiple things. I smiled inside, thinking it was a sign of the supernatural finally coming to me. The final step was to step out of the candles, taking the letter with me, and burn it with only one candle. If I chose the wrong one, according to the ritual, I would be met with a terrible fate. Satan's rejection. I could feel him telling me to pick one candle, so I dropped the letter onto the one candle, as it burned slowly. Out of nowhere, the banging I had heard before became stomping, and before I knew it, the bear had run in, stepping on one of the candles, and catching on fire. It tried to attack me. It mauled at me, scratching me in numerous places and biting me on the shoulder. I also connected with the flaming area of the bear, and I caught on fire. Then, came the wasps. I was severely allergic to them. They stung me all over, and by then, I was on the ground, screaming at the top of my lungs in pain. The bear had died burning, and I was still burning from the bear, my cuts stinging, and the wasps' stings causing skin inflammation. I heard a distant running towards my area of the woods, and a quiet shouting of "What the hell is going on here?" Then, everything went black. Invading my subconsciousness was Satan himself. I was standing before him. "My lord, I have summoned you," I tell him. "Sergei, your quests for finding the supernatural have gotten you nowhere. Now you are on Death's doorstep. To hell you will go, but that will complete your quest to summon the surreal, or has it? You will never be satisfied with yourself because while you succumb to a mental hell to find the surreal in reality, haven't you already found it? Reality is supernatural," he says to me, sinking back into his fiery domain. Nothing else happened. Category:Ritual Category:Mental Illness